


let your heart be light

by whisperedwords



Category: National Football League RPF
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Secret Relationship, Secret Santa, Sneaking Around, Two Soft Bois In Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 23:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16984134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperedwords/pseuds/whisperedwords
Summary: Carson Wentz has a really important question to ask his reigning-Super-Bowl-Champ-And-MVP boyfriend. The problem is, he doesn't have the slightest clue how.





	let your heart be light

**Author's Note:**

> this is a christmas gift for my sweet love sara, who i won't link to because she's a shy bean. i have been single-handedly converted into loving nick/carson like they're my own boys and not a division rival for me, Resident Dumb Ass Giants Fan. (also, hey, @ everyone else: can yall do me a favor and not expose me to philly like this? op is a dumbass who doesn't need recognition like that.)
> 
> merry christmas, honey!!! this is for you. thanks for making me love them, now im stuck with their cuteness forever.
> 
> title from "have yourself a merry little christmas" because it's the holidays and the day i come up with an original, non-lyric title of my own will be the day they ban me from this website

Carson Wentz is in love with his backup quarterback.

He’s known this for a solid half-season at _least_. Being around Nick Foles is nothing short of miraculous, for his mood and for his heart and even for his _play_. He takes one look at the big, toothy grin sitting on Nick’s face and that’s it—he’s reminded of every good thing that’s ever happened to him, every warm feeling that’s ever blossomed in his chest, every moment where he’d been so happy that the world had disappeared around him. It had taken a while for him to come to terms with it, but now Carson can say it with ease; and the best part, he thinks, is that Nick feels the same way about him.

The Super Bowl had been a dream, he thinks, one where he’d gotten everything he’d ever wanted when he cradled the Lombardi trophy standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a man he’d been in love with since week 9 of the 2017 season. And then it had gotten better—because that night, in the hotel room after the game, Nick had kissed him and taken all the air from his lungs and said _I love you, Carson_ with such reverence that it had strangled the words from Carson’s throat. He’d only been able to kiss Nick again in response, so moved and shocked that he hadn’t been able to say the words until the next day—but by then, he’d been saying it in his head for so long, it’d come out fluent. _I love you, Nick. I’m in love with you_. And their offseason had begun on that high note, one that had been soaring every single day since then.

It’s where Carson is right now, fiddling with his phone on the QB room couch, browsing Instagram as he waits for his two other quarterbacks to show up: _wildly_ in love with Nick Foles and unable to say anything about it because they’d promised to keep things secret until the world was ready. (A brief spoiler: it wasn’t.) He taps his phone screen absentmindedly as he goes through picture after picture, rolling his eyes at the dumb stories that his teammates have been sending him about Prince Harry. _Dorks_. He types out a couple of replies—mostly “ _shut up_ ” messages with a few eye-roll emojis smattered in—and then puts the phone face-down on the nearest flat surface so that he can stretch out more fully. It’s not _cold_ outside yet—at least, not cold from Carson’s point of view—but it’s a little chilly, and as he settles in, he remembers that he’s got his spare nap blanket folded up underneath the couch for little moments like this. (It’s a kelly-green Snuggie, one that his mom had bought for him last season, back when he’d first been drafted, and he keeps it tucked away so that people—see: _Nate_ —don’t steal it for personal use.)

Except, when he reaches underneath to grab hold of the little built-in handle it has (for some inexplicable reason), it isn’t there. He’s half-falling off the couch at this point as he pats around the floor for it, white-knuckling the back of the sofa so he doesn’t land face-first on the ground, but it’s just—not there.

“Where the heck is it?” Carse wonders aloud, still partially upside-down and hanging over the side of the couch. Blood is rushing to his head and he’s a little bit dizzy from the angle he’s at, and so it takes a moment before he remembers where it is. Or, rather, with _whom_ it is residing. Carson flushes red at the memory.

He’d been sitting in Nick’s car when he’d last had it. Or, well, not so much _sitting_ as much as straddling, as he’d been in Nick’s lap, kissing him in the backseat after a particularly slow day of practice. It’d been the first day of walkthroughs after their bye week, nothing high-intensity until Tuesday, and Nick had looked so handsome perched in one of the QB room chairs that Carson hadn’t been able to help himself. They’d walked out to Nick’s car, Carse walking arm-in-arm with him in the rapidly-fading sunlight, and the control he’d exercised earlier had all but dissipated. It wasn’t long at all before Carson was on him, lips eager and excited with every kiss he’d drawn out of Nick; he had _really_ been starting to get into it, though, when Nick had pulled back, pink in the face from their kisses but also from what he was about to say. Voice a little gravelly, he’d mumbled, “Carse, ‘m a little chilly.”

And that’s when Carson had remembered his secret QB room weapon. With a kiss on the cheek, he’d promised his boyfriend he’d be right back, and had full-on sprinted— _sprinted_ —back into the facility to snag the blanket he’d been keeping to himself. The expression on Nick’s face had been one Carson wouldn’t forget for a while—soft and warm, a big silly smile spread cheek-to-cheek as Carse had dramatically draped it over him, and he’d mumbled “I coulda turned the back heated seats on, you dork,” as Carson had kissed him with a sheepish smile on his face. They’d gone back to Nick’s place not long after, and Carson’s snuggie had probably been brought inside. _Damn_.

He texts Nick, though he knows his boyfriend is already on the road to NovaCare, and then leans his head back against the armrest. He feels bad about asking for the snuggie back—it’s not a personal thing, just _convenience_ -based more than anything—and tries to justify that, if he had a key to Nick’s place, he could’ve just driven over at some point and picked it up instead of asking him to bring it back whenever the next time he’d be home was. _Besides_ , the little voice in his head that never seems to shut up about Nick continues, _it’s not like you’re not always there anyway._ Carson shrugs to himself, eyeing the way the little reply bubbles up on his phone not even two minutes later. _Gotcha_ is all it says, followed by a little green heart emoji, and _god_ is Carse in love with him.

The Nick part of his brain, after briefly fawning over the sweetness of his message, decides it wants to ramble on a little more about living together, seeing as there’s no one else around and it’s the most sensible Nick-related thing he can do without risking exposure. (The blush that colors his cheeks is instinctive as he remembers _exactly_ how this part of his brain decided to spend week 15 of last season.)

Moving in with Nick wouldn’t be that big of a deal—if he’s being honest, he spends more time in Nick’s presence than out of it most days, and they’ve been going back and forth between beds every few days when they’re not loaded down with film to study. Sleepovers, Nick had referred to them once, and Carson grins at the thought, the memory catching him off-guard a little—Lily, one weekend they were away for a game, was on FaceTime with Nick, sitting in Tori’s lap with her big bubbly smile, and it had been getting late. Carson had been sitting in the corner at the time, thumbing through plays on his tablet to run by his boyfriend, when he’d heard Nick mumble “Daddy’s at a sleepover and he’s gotta go—but he loves you so much!” into his phone. As soon as he’d pressed ‘end call’, Carson had burst into a fit of laughter, one which had Nick all red in the face.

“Sleepover?”

Nick had shrugged. “I mean, _technically_ ,” he’d answered sheepishly, and it had been so absurdly cute that Carson had pulled him into a stranglehold of a hug on his bed before kissing his cheek, a gentle little reminder of how god damn _sweet_ his boyfriend was about his daughter.

_If he were sick of you_ , Carson’s Nick-brain continues, poking him square in the chest, _you’d’ve known it by now._ And that’s true; last season had taught Carson Wentz many things, about pain and teamwork and faith, but the most _important_ thing he’d learned was how to read Nick Foles like a book. And so he indulges his ridiculous brain for another few moments, phone still in-hand, and imagines that the two of them have their own place. Nothing dramatic, nothing expensive or luxurious—Lord knows neither of them would want that, really—just an apartment, something average-sized and spacious enough for Carson to keep all his hunting gear in one specific place. Nick would have his little reading corner, somewhere he could tuck himself away in, and it’s so _easy_ for Carson to imagine making a beeline for him curled up in an armchair, climbing into his lap despite the book that’d been occupying his time, pressing his face into Nick’s collarbone—

“Hey, Carse,” Nick says, a little out of breath as he stumbles into the QB room and jolts Carson out of his starting-to-feel-real fantasy. “Sorry about the snuggie.” He plops onto the couch right next to Carse and bounces a little into his space, their shoulders bumping for a moment. Nick’s scarf-cocooned body is soft and a little chilly from the wind, and Carson pokes at his shoulder and pouts.

“Nicky, your _jacket_ ’s cold.” He scoots away for a moment, mock-rubbing at the arm that had brushed up against it, and Nick’s face melts into something apologetic for a half-second before he remembers that no one is around. The look dissipates almost immediately.

“You’re a big baby,” he teases in response, nudging Carson before shedding the jacket and scarf in one fluid motion. They tumble over the back of the couch in one pile, and Carson rolls his eyes as he watches the thought of _I should pick that up_ cross Nick’s face. (Again—he’s good at reading his Super Bowl MVP like a book. It’s second nature, at this point.) Scooting closer so that they’re directly thigh-to-thigh, now, Nick gives him a big smile, one that warms Carson’s chest so quickly he needs to take a breath. “Hi.”

Carson beams back at him, incapable of containing the affection that seems to _constantly_ be spilling out of him these days when it comes to his backup quarterback. “You said that already,” he teases, and Nick rolls his eyes. Unable to help himself, he leans in so that he’s almost nose-to-nose with Nick. “ _Hi_.” He smiles at the expression that crosses his boyfriend’s face, and closes the gap between them for a half-second, planting a chaste kiss right on Nick’s lips and turning pink because of it.

“Mmm,” Nick hums, his eyes still closed. Carson’s chest gets tight again at the sight, at how much he really, _really_ loves Nick Foles. “Coulda used that out there. Warmed me right up.” Carson laughs and his boyfriend blushes, ducking his head with a now-bashful smile.

“Shuddup,” he replies, though his voice is soft and he’s still got a hand over Nick’s knee. “Nate’s gonna see us, you big goof.”

Right on cue, the doorknob to the QB room jiggles, and Carson leaps to his feet and grabs the nearest thing—the physical copy of his playbook, thank _God_ —as their third-string quarterback saunters in, just as layered up as Nick had been. He takes one look at Carson, and then turns his head towards Nick, and Carson can feel his stomach _drop_ at the thought of Nate maybe knowing their secret—

“I’m on coffee duty this morning, huh,” he deadpans instead. He flings his hat over towards his designated chair and sighs, earning a giggle from Nick and a sigh of relief from Carson.

“Yes _please_ ,” Nick replies cheerily. He claps his hands and rubs them together, emphasizing his distaste for the weather. “Make it extra hot.” He pauses. “Can you do that? I don’t think you can do that.”

Nate rolls his eyes and audibly sighs, his shoulders sagging dramatically from the effort. “Nick, do I look like a Starbucks barista to you?” He’s grinning like a dope, though, giving away the fact that he loves to tease his teammates like this.

“Actually—” Carson pipes up, but Nate waves a hand to shush him.

“Don’t wanna hear it, Carse,” he interrupts, peeling his jacket off and tossing it in the direction of his hat. “I’m going to make coffee. Don’t do anything stupid until I come back, please.”

“No promises!” Carson calls after him, and Nick snorts as he reaches back behind the couch for his things.

* * *

Except, _okay_ , here’s the thing—Carson still hasn’t gotten the idea of moving in with Nick out of his head yet. It’s ridiculous; he’d spent all day with him (and Nate), going over potential plays to bring up with Coach Pederson before the game against the Cowboys, and yet his Nick-infatuated brain hadn’t quite been able to let the thought go. _You already live with him_ , it’s been chanting, and Carson turns up the volume on his favorite local country station as he drives back to his place because he _needs_ to get it out of his head. It’s distracting. It’s silly. It’s—

It’s something he really, genuinely wants. _Oh_. Not just another one of his hopeless-romantic tendencies, not some Instagram-inspired concept he’d scrolled past. Carson thinks he’s ready to, you know, take the next step with Nick. The thought is a little bit chilling, if he’s being honest, and he has to take a hot shower to clear his head just in case any other reasons for _you should be living with Nick_ is bouncing around between his ears. He fiddles with the faucet in his bathroom for a little while as he contemplates it—the possibility of sharing this bathroom with Nick, of being able to ensnare him by the waist as he shaves or brushes his teeth or does _anything_ , really, it has Carson feeling lightheaded. _Their_ bathroom. _Their_ morning routine. It’s an idea that sits warmly in his chest, radiating affection in waves and making Carson smile goofily at his own reflection. _I’m going to ask Nick to move in with me_ , he decides firmly. The smile on his face breaks into a full-on grin. _I’m going to do it_.

After several minutes of trying to find the perfect water temperature for shaving, he gives up after a few minutes and figures that it won’t look _too_ bad when he’s standing up on the podium later in the day to answer the pre-match media questions. Besides—he’s a little preoccupied with other, more pressing matters, like how the _heck_ he’s going to actually ask.

Because the thing is, nothing between the two of them has ever actually been formal. Carson had realized this after their second technical date, where they’d watched a movie at Nick’s place and he’d been tucked into Nick’s side the entire evening: no one had asked the other out. Hell, Carson hadn’t realized he was in love with Nick or even that he was _bisexual_ until at least halfway through the previous season. It had all happened casually and at a slow pace, which Carse had found himself being grateful for for a while. At least, until now. Because now, sitting by himself on his bed (that suddenly feels a little too big for just him) and toying with his TV remote, Carson decides that he wants to do something special. Something formal. Something…romantic. _Maybe even a little bit extra_ , the Nick part of his brain whispers, and Carson rolls his eyes. He really needs to figure out how to shut that part off.

Nick texts him a moment later. _Thinking about u_ is all it says, and Carson can’t help himself—he sends a string of emojis in response, most of them being the watchful eyes, and almost immediately Nick texts back _shut up_ , which Carson knows means he’s red in the face. He grins at his screen. _I meant about plays 4 Sunday_. Ahhh. Ever the diligent backup, always looking into schemes because he can’t help himself. _If u aren’t busy, call me?_

Carson is never, _never_ too busy to call Nick. So he does—presses the little picture of him at the top of the message and hits _call_.

“You’re too much,” Carson starts, and he hears Nick giggle on the other end.

“Just lookin’ out for you, Carse,” he replies, and that warm feeling in his chest from before comes back in full-force. “Anyway, I can email you the file, but it looks like you’re gonna be able to expose one of New Orleans’ newly-added corners with that Ertz route we were talkin’ about before—”

Carson tunes out. It’s not purposeful—he knows that the football part of his brain is listening and taking notes, and he makes a little noise of affirmation when necessary—but the fact that Nick had planned out an entire route scheme and tested it up against the Saints footage from week 10 was such a selfless, devoted, _Nick_ -like thing for him to do, and it makes Carson’s stomach all knotted up with love.

“Thanks, Nicky,” he murmurs into the phone, and Nick’s run-on sentence on the other end of the line stops.

“Huh?”

“I said thank you. That’s a real good idea, and we can test it out at practice tomorrow.” Nick hums in agreement. “You’re the best. I love you.”

“I love you too, Carse.” He pauses. “But you _know_ I’m just doin’ my job.”

“Yeah, but you’re the best at doin’ it.” He can hear Nick’s nervous giggle and smiles at the sound. “Anyway, I mean it. Thank you. Love you. See you tomorrow.”

“Love you,” Nick says, voice soft. “G’nite.” Carson keeps the phone to his ear until he hears Nick’s finger tap the screen a few times before successfully ending the call.

_If you were living with him, he wouldn’t have to call you to relay information like this_ , Carson’s brain states helpfully.

“Shut up,” he says aloud. He can’t keep himself from smiling, though. Yeah, he’s definitely going to do something about this.

* * *

The opportunity, fortunately, presents itself the next day, about half an hour after the whole team has arrived for the day’s practice. They’re sitting in their team-wide film review session, a day out from traveling to New Orleans for the game on Sunday, when Coach Pederson steps back from the podium at the front, giving way to Malcolm. He’s got a big smile on his face, and Carson can tell even sitting in the middle of their auditorium that something is coming.

“Boys,” he opens with, and the crowd of defensive backs sitting on the left side of the room rumbles with untapped rowdy energy.  “As reigning Super Bowl champions—” a roar of approval washes over the room and Malcolm grins, lifting his fist in the air to brandish the bejeweled ring for everyone to see. “— _as reigning champions_ ,” he repeats, “I think it’s safe to say we’ve earned something great this holiday season.” He grabs his helmet from where he’d set it aside on-stage and lifts it upside-down like a bucket. Beside him, Carson hears Nate mumble _what the hell is he doing_ under his breath, and he elbows him in the ribs. Nate swallows a laugh and turns his attention back to Malcolm, allowing Carse a moment to reach out and grab Nick’s hand for a moment, just to squeeze it. Nick doesn’t turn in his direction, but Carson can see even in the poorly-lit auditorium the way his cheeks get pink. He bites his lip to keep from commenting on it and turns his attention back to Malcolm, who’s shaking the helmet in his grasp. “We’re gonna do Secret Santa this year.” A little murmur of excitement washes over the crowd, and as he explains the general rules, Carson fully tunes out, because _there_. That’s it.

He’s going to use Secret Santa to ask Nick to move in with him.

“Names get picked next Saturday, so get to thinkin’. Merry Christmas, gentlemen.” He flashes a smile and Coach Pederson gives him a thumbs up from the side of the room, clearly in on it. Carson wonders absentmindedly if he’d gotten Coach to supervise so that Kelce doesn’t try buying a set of butt plugs for any of the rookies—he’d heard whisperings of it from Zach, though he hadn’t paid it much thought because, you know, his attention had kind of been focused elsewhere.

Specifically, on Nick, whose soft excited smile seems to radiate warmth as he leans over his seat to raise an eyebrow at Nate. His hand presses down on Carson’s knee for balance as he mumbles some inside joke to their third-string quarterback, who snorts so loud several other guys turn to stare. Carson hadn’t been listening. He’s too busy thinking about ways to give his boyfriend the best Christmas ever.

* * *

The game under the dome turns out to be just as awful as everyone had feared. Not only is the afternoon a completely one-sided performance from Drew Brees and the rest of his unbelievably high-powered offense, but it also happens to be a bad game from the Eagles offense. Carson hadn’t been able to breathe evenly while standing on the sidelines, the anger and disappointment roiling in his gut too strong to be held at bay. He throws his helmet on the sidelines. He yells. Post-game, he gives the most agonizing interview of his life, and it takes everything in him not to immediately burst into tears as he steps into the away team locker room in Mercedes Benz Stadium. It doesn’t help that Nick’s expression is so disbelieving and sympathetic that it makes Carson want to die. He let his team down—he let _Nick_ down. So he does his best to shrug it off and just ride the bus back to the hotel, eyes downcast, hands knit together in his lap. If he breathes steadily, he reasons, maybe he won’t completely let himself go.

The collapse, of course, comes later—he’s still in his interview clothes, dress shirt untucked from his pants and half-unbuttoned, when Nick comes knocking on his hotel room door. As soon as he steps through the doorway and clicks the door shut, Carson knows he’s going to break. Can feel the despair bubbling up from where he’d forced it down before, quick to rise as he makes eye contact with his backup quarterback.

“Carse,” Nick murmurs as he steps into Carson’s space. That’s all it takes. A choked-off sob wrenches from Carson’s throat, coming from somewhere so deep that it’s painful, and he ducks his head into Nick’s shoulder as he cries, helpless as his shoulders shake from the force of his sadness. Nick makes a soft noise in Carson’s ear and rubs his back tenderly. “Carse, honey…”

“I’m sorry,” Carson gasps between sobs. “I’m sorry, Nicky, I didn’t mean—I didn’t want to let you down out there—” He can’t even find it in him to finish a sentence. It’s not worth re-hashing how he’d fallen apart, how things had gone completely off the reservation out on the field. Nick continues to shush him softly.

“Carse,” he begins again, and though he can’t stop the tears from falling, Carson manages to swallow the sobs and keep them in his chest. “’s just one game. I know you think it’s all on you—” Nick stops for a moment to kiss the side of his head, and the ache in his chest intensifies, though less from the game and more from his boyfriend’s steady presence at his side. “But it’s not. Carson, it isn’t. I promise. You think I haven’t played some of those games too?” He manages a humorless chuckle and Carson recoils at the words, realizing how selfish he must seem right now when Nick had almost lost everything and walked away not even three years ago. He feels sick with it, with _all_ of it—“You’re not alone, baby. You’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

Turning his head so that his face tucks into the crook of Nick’s neck, Carson takes a deep, trembly breath. He’s not quite ready to speak yet; there’s still too much emotion rattling around in his throat, and he’s afraid if he tries to thank Nick or tell him anything he’s going to completely shatter apart. Nick hums something soft. “Hey. Let’s get you ready for bed, yeah?” Carson nods wordlessly, still pressed to his boyfriend’s shoulder.

Nick is gentle as he finishes unbuttoning Carson’s dress shirt. His hands are warm and steady, knuckles brushing against Carson’s abdomen every so often, and he would giggle at the sensation if he weren’t completely drained from the events of the afternoon. The shirt falls backwards over his shoulders as Nick takes his time undoing Carson’s belt, easing it from around his hips and tossing it gently to the floor. He’s quick to undo the button keeping his dress pants up, but Carson is slow to step out of them, kicking them several times before they finally pile onto the rest of his things.

“There,” Nick says softly. “Isn’t that better?” If he’s being honest, Carson _does_ feel a little better—lighter, almost, though the crushing weight in his gut hasn’t gone away. But standing here in front of Nick in his undershirt and boxers, free of his game-day suit and the memories that have now been sewn into it, it’s a little less difficult to breathe. He nods.

“Yeah,” Carson finally says, his voice hoarse from crying. “Thank you, Nicky. I…” He watches as Nick looks him up and down, grabs a gentle hold of his biceps before nodding reassuringly, a small smile playing at his lips.

“Anything for you, Carson.” He returns to Carson’s atmosphere and presses a lingering kiss to his cheek, leaning his forehead Carson’s. “Anything at all.”

Suddenly, the roiling feeling in his stomach from earlier in the day returns, though this time it feels different—there _is_ something he wants right now, something that only Nick can give him. He starts to tremble again at the thought—when Nick takes a step backwards to cradle Carson’s cheek in his hand, a look of realization and understanding crosses his face, and he nods once.

“Please,” is all Carson can think to say. They’re too damn connected for Nick to not know what he’s asking for—when the gap between them is closed by Nick’s steady, unwaveringly tender kiss, Carson melts into his arms, and they move as one person backwards to Carson’s bed. He just wants to forget today ever happened, and as he clings to his boyfriend and absorbs kiss after kiss after kiss, Carson remembers once again what it feels like to be bathed in the warm joy of victory.

* * *

The trip back to Philadelphia eases some more of Carson’s heartbreak—he falls asleep on Nick’s shoulder on the flight home for half an hour, and then wakes up to Nate teasing him about it sitting in the aisle next to them. By the time they touch down at Philadelphia International, Carson is back to smiling with the team and, more importantly, is shifting back into planning mode for the tumultuous week ahead of Operation Lockdown. (Admittedly, it’s not a great name, but thinking about it on the flight had made him laugh a little bit, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t appreciate his own sense of humor.)

Or, at least, he’s trying to plan. His brain is still foggy and frazzled from New Orleans, both in good and bad ways, and rather than starting to lay out the goals of his elaborate plot to get Nick to move in with him, his brain keeps trailing off into more distracting thoughts. Staring out the bus window on the team drive back to the facility, Carson finds himself imagining what it would be like to regularly wake up next to his boyfriend. Or, at least, what it would be like for their mornings together to be less sporadic and less bouncing between houses. No more cross-city drives to grab work clothes, no more back-and-forth decisions on where they’re staying for the night—no more nights where Carson lies in bed alone and wishes his boyfriend were there with him, curled up at his side and helping him sleep a little better. It’s a comfort he hadn’t realized just how badly he’d wanted until just now—up until the thought of moving in together had even crossed his mind, Carson hadn’t even considered the impact Nick’s (albeit brief) absence from his everyday life had been making.

Beside him, Nick stirs— _he’s_ the one asleep, now, head lolled forward ever-so-slightly almost as if he’s simply immersed in his music rather than taking a post-flight nap. Carson beams at him. The bus rolls along to NovaCare, and eventually he has to reach out and rest a hand on Nick’s thigh.

“Mmmm?” Nick hums, blinking slowly as the mid-afternoon sun spills through the tinted bus windows. He twists towards Carson in his seat, a sleepy smile stretching across his face as he registers Carson’s affectionate expression. “Wh’s’up?”

“We’re home,” Carson murmurs, squeezing Nick’s thigh for a moment. “’s time to wake up, sleepyhead.” Nick chuckles quietly and nods, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he sits upright and readjusts his headphones. Carson can’t help but beam as he watches his boyfriend push up and out of his seat on the bus—Nick turns towards him once he’s standing in the aisle and raises an eyebrow.

“What’re you lookin’ at, Carse?” There’s a twinge of sleepiness mingled in his words, and Carson can’t help but smile even wider. He shakes his head and gets up, stepping into the aisle and following the rest of the team back into the facility. The only thought rattling around inside Carson’s head is the almost completely overwhelming instinct to reach out with his free hand and lace his fingers with Nick’s—he doesn’t act on it, of course, seeing as they’re surrounded by their teammates who, while they’d most likely be fully accepting, would be seeing a side of their quarterbacks that would be arguably too personal to openly share. The reminder of their still-under-wraps love gets Carse a little down some days, but it’s easy to forget when Nick beams at him from across the room with a glint in his eye that only Carson can see. And, _oh_ —maybe it’s been between them this whole time, this subtle need to be in each others’ atmospheres all the time. From day _one_ Carson has been infinitely more comfortable in Nick’s presence in just about every situation they’ve ever been in—how had it taken him _this_ long to come up with the now-too-obvious solution to the problem? He chuckles to himself. Carson “Can’t Miss” Wentz had been so out of touch with the realities of his relationship with Nick Foles that he’d been completely blindsided by _this_ , of all things.

He grabs his things and says goodbye to his teammates before heading out to the parking lot, where his car is glittering underneath the midday sunlight. It’s a sight almost completely opposite from the way he’d felt not even 24 hours ago— _maybe_ , he thinks, _this a sign that things are moving in the right direction_. He unlocks the car and climbs in. _God, I hope so_.

* * *

The next few days, Carson realizes he has to start planning for his Secret Santa surprise sooner rather than later—they’re approaching Thanksgiving, which means they’ve got another divisional game on Sunday, and which _also_ means that, as Malcolm had said on Friday before they’d left practice, names for the gift exchange are being drawn on Saturday. And, while he hasn’t _technically_ been assigned Nick yet, he knows in his heart that there’s no other way that this drawing will go. The more time he has to prepare, the better the surprise will be. Laid up on the QB room’s couch, Carse taps his phone to his forehead as if it’ll help him generate ideas, though his Notes app is still untouched.

Right out of the shoot, before he’d even known about the team-wide event, he had known that this needed to be formal. Not a casually mentioned idea while they’re curled up in bed together, not a little joking moment between them, but something _tangible_ and important. Romantic, too, though Carse thinks that Nick’s a hopeless romantic at heart and will see anything he does as romantic. (Even thinking about that makes Carson’s heart flutter. _God_ , is he in love with Nick Foles.) He quickly types out _formal_ and makes sure to put a bunch of asterisks next to it, in case his future self somehow forgets that this is the most important part of the entire affair.

But what comes next? Carson is, self-admittedly, not a very creative person. He’s known that for a while, and it can be seen every time the Eagles work with area elementary schools and their drawings look a lot like what ends up in the margins of Carson’s film notes. That is, to say, frequently unidentifiable—he’s pretty sure his contact photo in Nate’s phone is Carson’s attempt to draw a football, and even Nick teases him about how his handwriting and drawing skills are the same kind of disastrous. And that’s just from a _drawing_ perspective. He’s not sure how he could ever come up with something big enough to fully encompass what he’s trying to do in asking Nick to move in with him—at least, not without trading thoughts with Nick, who’s about seven times more creative than he is, but doing that would be kind of ruining the whole “surprise” idea.

So, ever the diligent man of study, Carse pulls up Google on his phone and types in _creative proposal ideas_. He goes a little pink in the ears at the fact that all of the search results are, predictably, about marriage proposals; _yeah_ , he’s in love with Nick, and _yeah_ he would want to marry him someday, but even thinking beyond three weeks from now has him dizzy with affection and nerves. So he steels himself and browses through the flood of clickbait-laden articles on the perfect marriage proposal anyway, mentally replacing “marriage” with “moving in”. (They’re the same number of letters, he thinks amusedly, though that thought and the ones that follow it quickly deepen the color in his cheeks.)

The problem is, a lot of the results that he’s finding are so heavily based on romantic comedies, which is a genre neither he nor his boyfriend are really well-versed in. He’s seen a couple of the big ones, yeah, but he knows that Nick is a ride-or-die superhero buff, and as much as he loves his Nicky, there is no way on Earth that he’d ask his boyfriend to live with him dressed up in a skin-tight superhero outfit. He’d tried that whole costume idea once, though it was for Halloween, and Nick had gone pink in the face as soon as Carson had walked into the room before laughing so hard he’d cried.

Yeah. The hero route isn’t going to make the top 5 list.

But the results he’s getting from Google are less than inspiring. Carson sighs and leans his head back against the couch’s armrest, staring up at the ceiling as if it’s going to ease him in the right direction. Now more than _ever_ he wishes their relationship were public so that he could bounce ideas off of his teammates. Even Kelce, who’d probably just make him purple in the face from unnecessarily-lewd suggestions, would be helpful right now. Instead, Carse is stuck with Google, who’s been particularly unhelpful and just keeps offering up the same four articles reposted a whole bunch. He’s about to fling his phone across the room, though, when he spies a headline that catches his eye.

Or, well, less of a headline, and more of a WikiHow image. Settled at the bottom of page five of his search is an article titled “ _How to Propose to Her Using a Scavenger Hunt Game: 8 Steps_ ” and takes a deep, steadying breath. This might be it. At least, it might be the idea that he runs with—it checks off the “formal” category, because there is nothing on Earth more planned-out than a scavenger hunt, and is creative in a way that separates itself from the romantic comedy movie genre…

“Son of a gun,” Carson murmurs aloud. He presses on the link until it turns blue—damn his cracked phone screen for making things unnecessarily difficult—and watches the eight vaguely written, poorly-illustrated steps load in front of his eyes. “I think I found it.”

“Found what?” A voice asks from out of nowhere, startling Carson so bad he drops the phone onto the floor. He looks up and into none other than Nick’s curious face as he walks through the QB room door, Nate following close behind them with a cardboard tray of Dunkin Donuts coffee. Carson shakes his head and swings his legs off the couch as he attempts to grab the phone off the floor.

“Nothin’,” he manages coolly, grabbing hold of his phone moments before Nate swoops down to try and snag it from him. “Just sent Zach a play I was trying to find that we might want to run in future games.” He shrugs to try and maintain his composure as he quickly clears his app history. “Nothin’ important, just tryin’ to be creative.” At least _that_ part wasn’t a total lie. Nick hums in approval.

“That’ll be good for the offense—switching things up for the Giants never hurt anyone. Plus, they won two in a row, so you never know.” He shrugs, and Nate laughs.

“Nick, there is no way in _hell_ they’re going to be relevant the rest of the season.” He meanders over to Carson’s side and nudges his shoulder. “Our big man Carse here’s gonna rip that defense apart.”

Carson hasn’t been paying attention to anything his third-string quarterback has been saying, still preoccupied with the discovery he’d just made on _WikiHow_ of all places. The possibilities that a scavenger hunt unlock are a lot, and he’s going to have to start _today_ if he’s going to have enough time to plan—Carson is so focused on the project he’s got at hand that he completely forgets that anyone else had been in the room with him, and is quiet until Nate nudges him again and forces an affirmative noise out of him once he’s poked enough to warrant a reaction.

“Let me know what you guys decide on, ba—” Nick stops himself short, and Carson desperately tries not to widen his eyes when he realizes his boyfriend was about to slip a _baby_ into the conversation. All of a sudden, his heart is pounding in his ears, and he makes eye contact with Nick, who’s beet red. They sit in a half-second of silence before Nick panics and corrects himself, talking at a pace that’s a bit too fast to the normal ear. “—base scheme wise, I mean—the base tight end scheme should be good enough for this week, but a little spice in the playbook never hurt anyone.”

Fortunately, Nate doesn’t look up from his phone, where he seems to be hyperfixated, and Carson exhales. “Sounds good, Nick,” he answers with an understanding nod. After a few moments, Nate gives a belated thumbs up, and _that_ sparks a laugh in Nick, who’d looked so nervous that Carson had thought he was reliving the Jersey Hotel incident. (An incident _he_ doesn’t plan on re-living, thank you very much, that was enough unexpected embarrassment and trauma for one night.)

Their quarterbacks coach strolls in a few minutes later to prep them with footage and play-calling for the upcoming week, and Carson’s mind is completely taken away from his research. He spends the rest of the afternoon working with his two quarterbacks, dissecting the defense they’re about to go up against and exchanging laughter the entire times. As far as Tuesday afternoons go after a bad Sunday, this one’s pretty good.

* * *

The research continues as soon as he’s home, though—Nick isn’t coming over for another hour or so, since date-night usually starts sometime after 6, which means there’s a solid block of time to put some more thought and structure to the plan. Carson frantically googles _scavenger hunt proposals_ to find the dumb article that had inspired him in the first place and clicks on it.

_Step One: Plan your wedding proposal to her involving your friends._ Carson snorts. _That_ is out of the question, for more reasons than one—he doesn’t think moving in requires recruiting the rest of his teammates, for starters, and even if he’d wanted to—he’d have to _tell_ them who this was all for. That, of course, would only clue them in to the very thing Carson and Nick have been keeping a secret since February. The picture itself is unnerving, too, which only makes Carse scroll faster down the page to read what other (un)helpful steps that WikiHow has to offer.

_Step Two: Obtain the necessary materials._ “Well _that_ scrambles things,” Carson grunts aloud, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. How vague can one website even be, anyway? Frustrated and more than a little creeped out, he goes back to the initial Google search on his browser and sorts through the surprisingly long list of suggested articles. A lot of them, he finds, are related to the actual set-up of the final proposal stage—there are at least three different women’s health websites that explain the best colors and cuts of dresses for members of the engagement party to wear, and the thought has Carson’s ears burning again at the thought of _marriage_. He’s just asking Nick to move in with him. It’s not that big a deal. He’ll be fine.

Once he scrolls down the fifth unintentionally-mislabeled wedding planning guide, though, he gives up on trying to find a specific romantic answer to his “ _how do I do this?_ ” panic and settles, instead, for just planning a scavenger hunt. This time around, he gets a lot of parenting websites, which makes him laugh out loud—it’s the absolute opposite of his initial WikiHow discovery, page after page of bright colors and random collections of shapes, and if he’s being honest, it’s more compelling to him. (It’s not like he’d _actually_ say that, though, because Nick would innocently and unassumingly tell Nate, who would not stop teasing him until at _least_ the 2020 season.) Another handful of parent sites later, these ones especially catered for a younger, more visually-inclined audience under the age of 12, Carson finds a Youtube video explaining the four most important elements to creating a scavenger hunt. He cranks the volume on his laptop up and settles in on the couch, clicking play and clearing his mind of all football-related thoughts so he can fully absorb the basics of his mission.

He’s so focused on the video, in fact, that he doesn’t hear the door to his apartment open. He also doesn’t hear Nick drop his keys onto the kitchen counter, and he _definitely_ doesn’t hear footsteps creaking behind him all the way up to the couch.

“Whatcha watchin’, Carse?” Nick asks, leaning over so that he’s leaning on the back of the couch with his elbows. Carson yelps and falls backwards, bouncing against the couch and frantically looking up into Nick’s (once again) curious face. “Scavenger hunts?” He snorts.

_Oh no_. “What’s so funny about scavenger hunts?” Carse asks as Nick walks around and plops down next to him on the couch. “I thought they’re supposed to be, y’know. Fun.”

Nick hums. “Yeah, and they are, but…” he leans his head side to side a bit, a visual representation of his indecisiveness. “They’re kinda stressful, yeah? Like, don’t get me wrong, if the right person’s gonna do it, I’m all for it. But…I dunno.” Crap. _CRAP_.

Unaware of the disaster suddenly on Carson’s hands, Nick shrugs innocently and then scoots into Carson’s side, momentarily leaning his head on Carson’s shoulder. “Why’re you watching a video about scavenger hunts anyway?” He nestles closer. “You’re not trying to plan something for Nate without me, right?”

“No, no,” Carson replies quickly, closing his laptop so his boyfriend doesn’t see the dozen or so tabs full of spoilery—though no longer useable—ideas for Christmas. He drapes his arm over Nick’s shoulders. Nick makes a content noise. “’s just something my mom sent me on Facebook, nothing serious.” Except, _yes_ , it’s serious because now he’s plan-less with four days to go before he picks Nick’s name out of the helmet. What is he going to _do_? He’d been banking on the scavenger hunt idea, and though it’d only been for less than a day, Carson is worried he’s nowhere near creative enough to do something else.

As if he’s noticing the uneasy silence, Nick lifts his head from Carson’s shoulder. “Are you okay, Carse?”

“Mmm? Yeah, Nick, ‘m fine.” He gives his boyfriend a smile, as if attempting to prove that fact. Of course, to Carson’s dismay, Nick knows him better than that.

“You seemed a million miles away.” He reaches up to cradle the back of Carson’s head, thumb rubbing against the baby hairs of his neck. “Just wanted to make sure you’re with me here, that’s all.” His smile is small and soft, knowing in the most _Nick_ of ways. Carse just shakes his head, quashing down the hyperactive planning center of his brain.

“I’m here,” he answers. “Just thinkin’ about stuff, you know me.”

Nick rolls his eyes, though he _still_ manages to be cute; how is that possible? “Not about football, I hope—” Carson makes a face, hoping it’ll cover him. “Are you really just _always_ thinking about football, you big dork? We were just at practice not even two hours ago.” He leans in to plant a kiss on Carson’s cheek, one which tingles for a while after. “Overachiever.”

“Can’t help it, Nicky,” Carson answers sheepishly. “Besides, what am I _supposed_ to be thinkin’ about right now?”

“Hm,” Nick hums, scooting back into Carson’s arms. “I dunno, maybe…what’s for _dinner_ , Mr. Scavenger?” Nick giggles, now nestled up against Carson so tightly Carse can feel the vibration of laughter travelling between them. He pretends to huff dramatically as he crosses his arms. “Because I’m _pretty_ sure I made dinner last time, so…” Nick breaks into a grin, pressing his face into Carson’s shoulder. Carse can’t keep the matching smile off his face, especially as he feels Nick’s toothy grin right up against him, so he just makes a disgruntled noise.

“You’re just with me so I’ll cook for you, huh, Folesy?” Nick makes a noise of protest, though it’s lost in soft laughter that he can’t quite seem to contain. Neither of them move. “Nah, I think that’s it.” He presses a kiss to Nick’s forehead, though, and his boyfriend disentangles himself so that Carson can stand up and walk towards the kitchen, now preoccupied with rifling through whatever dinner recipes he has stored up in his brain. “In the mood for anything in particular?”

Nick’s words make him red in the face. “Only for you, baby.”

* * *

Carson wakes up slowly the next morning. Beside him, he can hear his boyfriend snoring quietly, curled up with his back to Carse and still pretty soundly asleep. It warms Carson’s heart—he casts a glance up towards the window in his bedroom and sighs at the already-windy-looking weather despite the fact that it’s only 7 in the morning. It’s not like he’s _expecting_ anything else, really—New England has been as much of a disaster as he’d been warned about, if not more because he hadn’t even taken trash storms into consideration—but knowing that it’s going to be cold as soon as they leave Carson’s apartment only makes it harder for him to get out of bed.

As the sleep starts to fade from his brain, the dilemma he’d run into the night before begins to resurface. More specifically, the problem of Nick not liking scavenger hunts, something he hadn’t even thought about until that very second. In retrospect, he’s glad that it had happened so Nick wouldn’t have to be stressed about the thing that’s supposed to be his Christmas present—but in the same breath, _jeez_ , what is he gonna do now? Carson casts a glance at Nick’s sleeping form, shoulders still rising and falling softly as he continues to dream. The fabric of his sleepshirt has hiked itself up a bit overnight, and a little patch of skin peeks out directly in Carson’s line of sight. He should be good, he mentally chastises himself, and just get out of bed and start their day. It _is_ a little late for them—Nick’s got a bad habit of waking up early to work out, though he’s been a little less vigilant about it now that he’s no longer starting week-to-week, and Carson likes to be fully awake before driving over to NovaCare to plan with the rest of the QB room. He _should_ get out of bed. It’d be the right thing to do.

Nick shifts again, scoots backwards ever-so-slightly so that his shirt hitches up a little more, and the sight alone drives the thoughts of productivity right out of Carson’s brain. He’s too sleepy to make good decisions, he decides as he scoots closer and gently rests his arm over Nick’s waist. Though his boyfriend makes a soft noise, he doesn’t wake up, which allows Carson to properly bury his face in the back of Nick’s shoulder and take a deep, steadying breath. Was it disappointing that Nick doesn’t _actually_ like scavenger hunts? Maybe a little, though Carson realizes as he’s settled into his boyfriend’s side that it would be a lot of prep work for an event that’s coming up faster than he’d like to think about. (It had also been an idea from a slightly-more-informed Yahoo answers page, which probably wouldn’t make for a good story down the road.) But he loves Nick. Has _been_ in love with him for almost a full year, now. He’s confident that he’s going to find some way to get the question right, even if he’s completely clueless as to how it’s going to happen right now. Besides: it’s Nick. He’s not too hard to impress, all soft and wide-eyed about the world in a way that makes Carson’s heart melt.

As if on cue, Nick rolls over in his arms and makes another soft, sleepy little noise, beginning to wake up. He scoots even closer to Carson. “Mmmghm?”

“G’mornin’,” Carson murmurs, pushing himself up against the pillows a little bit so that Nick can cross the gap between them and rest his head on Carson’s chest. It’s an easy, almost _thoughtless_ motion, as is Carse’s instinct to run a hand through Nick’s slightly-disheveled bedhead. Nick hums pleasurably, eyes still half-closed. “How’d you sleep, Nicky?”

“Mmm.” He nuzzles a little more into Carson’s chest. “Good…don’t wanna get out of bed, though.” Carson can feel the little pouty face Nick is so good at making up against his sleep shirt and chuckles before leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Yeah,” he answers, voice still a little gravelly with sleep. “’s not nice out…”

“We should stay in bed, right?” Carson can tell that Nick is starting to wake up more just from the way the teasing tone in his voice is getting clearer. He shifts even _closer_ to Carson and fully looks upwards, batting his eyelashes as if he’s got any work to do at all. “I think we should stay in bed.”

“Nicky…” But he can’t help the laughter at Nick’s ridiculously endearing expression: he leans forward to kiss Nick fully on the lips, easily drawn into the convincing argument that had just been made. His boyfriend’s lips are insistent, albeit still a little slow and sleep-laden, and it broadens the smile on Carson’s face for a few moments before Nick wraps an arm around his shoulders, the laughter in his throat dissolves quickly as the blond pulls him closer, so that they’re chest-to-chest laid up on pillows.

They kiss for a few long moments, moving quickly towards something heated as Carson’s knee nudges between Nick’s legs—mostly for balance, though the noise Nick makes against his lips as his hips roll a bit isn’t too bad of a side effect. He rests his hand flat on Nick’s cheek and, as they part for a moment of air, rubs a gentle circle against his warm skin with his thumb. Nick makes a soft noise of pleasure under his breath and hooks his other arm over Carson’s shoulders, too, now tucked so close together that their heads could be on one pillow.

“Mmmm. This is nice.” He kisses just to the right of Carson’s mouth, lips lingering and setting sparks off under Carse’s skin—Nick the Tease is always dangerous, always keeps him on his toes, and here in bed is no exception. He rolls his hips forwards again and Carse chokes on a low moan. Nick makes another quiet noise.

“You make a convincing argument, Nick Foles,” Carson mumbles as Nick’s lips begin to languidly kiss down his jaw, teeth grazing him ever-so-slightly and making Carse’s toes curl.  His boyfriend hums, teeth scraping lightly against Carson’s half-formed scruff, and then quickly makes his way back up towards Carson’s lips, which part easily as Nick goes in for another slow, heated kiss. He’s so good like this, Carson thinks breathlessly, and he’s _so_ close to telling him that and completely falling for the “bed all day” routine—

And then, because the universe is keen on throwing wrenches at the two of them, Carson’s phone starts to ring on his side table. He’d forgotten to set it to _do not disturb_ mode and _gosh_ is he regretting that now. The kiss he’d been sharing with Nick has altogether stopped, though they’re still pressed close together. Carson makes a soft noise of disappointment in the back of his throat, one that Nick mimics as if he’s simply an echo of Carson’s own thoughts.

The phone buzzes sharply again, vibrating irritatingly against the wood of the cabinet and drawing another annoyed noise from Carson. He grumbles against Nick's lips, ducking his head a little so that his forehead bumps Nick's nose. “ _Man_.”

"Don't answer," Nick murmurs, not quite a plea but something close, and Carson doesn’t think twice when he hums in agreement. The phone vibrates for another few moments, its standard jingle filling the space around their curled-together bodies, and finally lingers into silence. Nick grins at him sheepishly. "Mmmm, thanks."

"Anything for my MVP," Carson murmurs, unable to fight the smile off his face at the way his boyfriend gets pink in the face again. He runs his thumb over Nick's bottom lip slowly, still half-cradling his face, and Nick leans up for another kiss when _his_ phone starts to ring. Carson laughs humorlessly.

"'s probably not a coincidence," he mumbles, and Nick shakes his head before rolling back over to the side table where his phone is sitting.

He swipes left and accepts the call. "Hey, Nate," Nick says into the stillness of Carson's bedroom, and Carse chokes on a disbelieving laugh. "Yeah, he's probably in the shower." Nick turns his head and raises an eyebrow at Carson, who checks his phone and realizes with a smirk that it had been Nate calling him. "That's--I mean, whatever you wanna do, Nate, you know I'd never say no to a dozen--ha, any kind you want, we trust you. I mean, I trust you. And so does Carson, I'm pretty sure." Nick's face goes red with blush at the implication that they might be together. Carse rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, bro. See you--ha, yeah, I'm on coffee today, so I'll make sure it's ready for breakfast. See you there." He ends the call and then flops back onto the bed, still blushy in the cheeks.

"What'd he want?" Carse asks, and Nick groans, throwing a hand over his eyes for a moment. "That bad, huh?"

"He's buying donuts for the QB room and wanted to know if our diets would allow for it."

Carson snorts. "Diets? Nate, you dork." Nick laughs in agreement and rolls over again so that his face is now buried in the pillow.

"I'm on coffee duty," he reiterates. "Gotta be at Nova before everyone."

"Aw, poor baby," Carson teases, and Nick rolls his eyes before throwing off the covers. (He pretends not to notice just how awake his boyfriend is.) He watches Nick saunter over to the pile of clothing sitting in the corner of the room to snag his shirt before wrinkling his nose.

"Carse," he starts, and Carson knows exactly what's going to happen next. "Can I borrow a shirt? I think I gotta do laundry."

Carson laughs. "Any shirt you want, Nicky. Just try not to be obvious, hm?" Nick turns pink.

"Not gonna take one of your Audience shirts," he protests. He grins and shakes his head before walking over to Carson's closet and snagging a blue flannel shirt hanging closest to him. Wordlessly, he pulls it on over his thin white sleepshirt and opens his arms, inviting a reaction from his boyfriend, who's still in bed and doesn't plan on leaving any time soon.

"'s perfect," Carson says. "Really, Nick. I like seein' you in my flannels..."

"Stop right there," Nick warns, his face red. "I gotta leave and you're _not_ going to keep me in bed any longer."

Carson shrugs with a big smile. "Didn't say I was going to," he says, tilting his palms up in innocence. "I was just saying...."

"See you at Nova," Nick says pointedly, shuffling back over to the bed to press a chaste kiss to Carson's cheek before heading out the bedroom door.

* * *

They win against the Giants that Sunday, coming back from a pretty devastating first half to win by a field goal that seems to breathe a new wave of life into the locker room as everyone jogs back in. Victory is victory, and Carson feels giddy with it—at least, until he leaves the stadium for the afternoon. Because here’s the thing: they’d drawn names for the Secret Santa event the day before, a short event where Malcolm had just walked around the locker room holding his helmet that had been filled with the names of every single player sitting before them. It had been informal, and admittedly was a little rushed because the cleaning staff at Nova were trying to get ahead of the workload for the weekend, so no one had really gotten a chance to look at the names they’d drawn. Carson Wentz, ever the (over)confident man that he is, hadn’t even worried about looking at his little slip of paper, because he’d been convinced that he knew who it was already.

As it turns out, however, he may have overestimated his confidence. Because, when he pulls the slip of paper sitting on his couch that afternoon, he feels the blood rush from his face.

The name on the paper…wasn’t Nick’s. “Crap.”

So here he is now, aching and soaked in sweat even after his post-game shower, sitting on his couch with his face in his hands, staring at the little slip of paper that says _Michael Bennett_ in simple black font. There’s a sharp twinge in his right leg, thanks to one of the Giants players who’d tackled him a little low for comfort, but he’s not focused on that. Instead, he’s in the process of ascending into panic mode. Because this? For some unfathomable reason, had not been part of his plan. He’d been so confident that he’d just grab his boyfriend’s name because every other little element of their lives at the facility have been so coordinated and linked-up in one way or another that he’d gotten comfortable just…assuming Nick would be his partner in everything.

Comfort no more. He’s got two weeks to find a way to switch Secret Santa partners, plan his proposal (a label he blushes at _every_ time), and execute said plan, all the while pretending like everything between him and his boyfriend are normal. Heck, how is he even going to find out who _does_ have Nick? It’s called “secret santa” for a reason—Carson drags his hand over his face and exhales deeply, completely at a loss for words.

For a moment, he considers dropping the whole thing. He _knows_ Nick, knows he doesn’t have to be fancy to show Nick how much he loves him. He also knows that Nick wouldn’t think anything of it if Carson just asked him casually, between workouts, if he wanted to move in, because it’s so _them_ that it wouldn’t even register as odd. He could just keep things easy—but he can’t. He _can’t_. He wants to be romantic for the first time in their entire relationship, wants to pull out all the stops, wants to show Nick that Carson is in love with him _beyond_ words. Nothing is going to stop him from doing something for Christmas, no matter how many obstacles get thrown in his way. Eyes drifting to the coffee table, Carson re-reads the little slip of paper telling him the teammate he’d been assigned that’s not named Nick Foles. He sighs and sags into the couch, gameday wear-and-tear starting to really sink in.

“Geez,” he bemoans to his empty apartment. It’s more of a groan than anything else—Carson’s brain is too worn-out and full of football to be worried about this, but the worries are rattling around in his brain nevertheless, sounding particularly loud up against the migraine he can feel starting to build at the back of his head. He pushes up off the couch and meanders towards the medicine cabinet in his kitchen, looking for Advil but willing to accept any other substitute. All he wants to do is just…be done with this. He’s out of ideas and doesn’t even know how he’s going to get Nick’s name, let alone how he’s going to put together the most fittingly romantic proposition of his life so far.

Grabbing a hold of the bottle of Advil that’d been hiding at the back of the cabinet, Carson heads over to the kitchen sink and pops a few tablets back, sticking his head under the faucet and taking a swig of water to chase them back. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and starts to walk towards his couch to take a migraine-preventing nap when his phone lights up with a text message.

**from: ZERTZ**  
hey man, u up for a game of madden? might even take it easy on ur ass this time

Carson snorts, swiping his phone off the counter so that he can type a string of eye-rolling emojis to the tight end.

**from: ZERTZ**  
u know im not wrong, wentzylvania

**from: ZERTZ**  
accept defeat now and i’ll go easy on ur 87 vikes defense

_LOL_ , Carse types back. _Cant play rn, in the middle of a mini crisis. I’ll get u back Monday_.

**from: ZERTZ**  
crisis???????????

Carson has about five seconds to read Zach’s message before his phone starts ringing, with none other than Zach himself lighting up the other end. With a wry smile, he swipes right and answers the call.

“Crisis? What’s going on, Carse?” Zach sounds worried, which makes Carson chuckle.

“It’s nothing serious, Z, I swear. I just…” he exhales, too tired to make up an excuse. “Tried to plan for a Secret Santa surprise for one of the guys this year and I picked the wrong name.”

Zach chuckles at the dramatic tone starting to surface in Carson’s voice. “Damn, Carse, you sound like it’s the end of the world.”

“You mean it’s not?” Carse replies flatly. His tight end’s laughter continues. “Thanks for checking up, though, bud. I’ll be fine, probably.”

Zach’s laughter starts to die down. “No, no, Carse—who’re you trying to plan for, anyway? Who’s name you get—wait, don’t tell me if it’s me, dude—”

“It’s not you, Ertz,” Carson interrupts with a laugh. “I got Big Mike.”

“Hah. I got Corey, and I think he knows ‘cause he’s been showing me these dumb little things on Instagram—but that’s whatever.” Carse imagines Zach waving his hands everywhere to change the subject. “Who’re you trying to plan for, Wentz?”

Carson hesitates. “Uh, Nick.”

Zach makes an unidentifiable noise. “Big Mike’s kinda the opposite of Foles, so I see the dilemma.” He pauses, and Carson swears his face is on fire just listening to Zach not say anything. “What’re you planning, Carse?”

“It’s a long story,” he lies, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “And it’s kinda secret.”

Zach chuckles. “Yeah, yeah, Secret Santa secret, I got it.” He pauses. Carson is infinitely thankful that his closest friend on the team is so ready to go with whatever he’s planning. “Listen, I think I know who’s got Nick. If I can get ahold of him before the actual shopping goes down, I’ll hit you up, man.”

Carson exhales so loudly and forcefully it almost comes out as a sob. “You’re a lifesaver, dude. Jeez.” He drops his elbows onto the counter and momentarily leans forward to rest his head against the cool marble. “I swear, I will owe you forever.”

“Damn, dude, it’s no big deal. I got you, bro. Just hit me on Sunday with a touchdown or two and we’re good.”

“Only one or two? Seems like you’re gonna be slacking off,” Carson says with a sly grin. “I’ll try to let you get your rest, Ertz.”

Zach snorts. “Shut up, Carstopher.” Carson shrugs, as if his tight end can see the shit-eating expression on his face. “Glad you’re not having a big life crisis, though, man. Just make sure you’re getting ready for Sunday while you panic over whatever your Secret Santa plans are.” He hangs up and Carson releases another exaggerated breath. He’s still got the planning part to work on—and _lord_ knows if Zach will even be able to get custody of Nick’s Secret Santa rights—but if he’s being honest, the fact that there’s a chance lifts a weight off his chest.

He sets his phone down and makes his way back over to the couch, the Advil beginning to kick in. “God, please let me have this.” He presses the heel of his palms to his eyes. “Just this one thing. I’m leaving all this in Your capable hands, Lord.” Plopping onto the couch and laying back to take the nap he’s definitely been needing all day, all Carson Wentz can do right now is hope that God is watching over him and listening. Besides—if there’s one guy he knows he can count on, God aside, the only person that he can think of is Zach, who’s been like a brother since Carse had first arrived in Philly. He’s put his faith in stranger things.

* * *

Blessedly, Zach doesn’t say anything at practice the next day aside from their usual greeting, handshake and all. The morning is spent in film review, picking apart where the Giants defense had gotten them in the first half and the ways they’d need to step up to prevent it from happening again. The Redskins are this coming week—as good as it had felt to snag a close win the way they had, the race for the division is still going strong, and Washington is their current target.

“Don’t let them fool you into complacency,” Coach Pederson warns at the end of the film session, standing at the podium and seeming to make eye contact with every man in front of him. “They might’ve lost Alex Smith, but they’ve still got a hot defense, and they’re gonna want the division title bad. Almost as bad as we want it.” At that, he grins mischievously. “Not as bad as us, of course—” The rest of the team roars in agreement, Carson included. “We just gotta stay on our toes, gentlemen. We’re in the home stretch. We’re only a game and a half out of divisional contention. Let’s fuckin’ go.”

Fletch stands up in his seat, clearly amped by Coach’s speech. “Fly, Eagles, fly,” he belts, hands cupped around his mouth, “on the way to victory!” The rest of the room erupts in a cheer and follow in his footsteps, singing their hearts out along with Coach—the energy in the room is _electric_. It’s enthralling, and it completely takes Carson’s mind off of the impending disaster of his Christmas proposal to Nick. Nate whacks a fist into his shoulder and Carson slaps him on the back in return as they delve into another round of their anthem. He’s _excited_ for Sunday, can’t wait to go out there and take down Washington to get to the top of the division like he knows they’re capable of— _the playoff run starts now_ , he thinks with a smile. Nick’s shoulder bumps into his for a moment, and they lock eyes mid-verse. His eyes are sparkling under the low-lit auditorium lights, and it’s breathtaking, the expression on his face. Pure, unfiltered joy. All Carson wants to do is kiss him.

He doesn’t, of course, and they eventually calm down enough to file out of the film room for the day. Tuesday is their day off before hands-on practice resumes, so most of the guys are getting ready to leave the building and rest up for what they deem ‘victory Monday’. Carson is about to head out with them, of course, when Zach grabs his arm and pulls him aside.

“Carse, I don’t wanna sound too overdramatic, but I am here to be your saving grace.” He holds out his hand and, slightly crumpled around the edges, sits a slip of paper with _Nick Foles_ printed at the center. Oh my god.

“Zach,” Carson starts, and then throws his arms around him in a quick show of affection. Zach grunts from the shock. “You really are my saving grace, bud,” he exclaims as he picks up the little slip and pockets it. From in his gym bag, he fishes out the little _Michael Bennett_ paper he’d kept tucked away out of sheer frustration and practically crushes it into Zach's waiting palm.

“Any time, bro.” The tight end holds up a fist for Carson to bump, which he exaggeratedly obliges, and grins. “Listen. I’m serious about kicking your ass in Madden tonight. No mercy. Especially not after this.”

Carson shrugs, unable to stop smiling. “Sounds good, man.” He’ll get his butt handed to him in Madden ’19 every day this week, taunting and all, if it means he has sole possession of the little slip of paper that’s taken an enormous obstacle out of his plan. “You’re the best.”

“I know, Carse, it’s why you love me.” He rolls his eyes and claps Carson on the shoulder. “Text me when you’re online later, okay?” Carson nods. “Drive safe, bro.”

* * *

Sunday’s game comes and goes—they defeat the Redskins, because if Carse is being honest, they’re falling apart at the seams. He basks in the second straight week of victory over the rest of the division with the rest of the guys, high fives and chest bumps as they return to the locker room. But, much as the week before had gone, as soon as Carson steps into his apartment and collapses onto the couch, the reality of his plans—or lack thereof, really—return to the forefront of his mind. He tosses and turns that night, mind completely occupied with the conflicting feelings of victory and helplessness.

Monday passes the same, to his misfortune—Nick also remains as angelic as ever, which only makes Carson even more antsy because he really has _no_ idea what he’s going to do. Nick kisses his knuckles in the parking lot after film review, tells him he’s excited for dinner tomorrow night, and Carson nods in agreement, dazed and infatuated and unbelievably out of luck in his planning. Dumbfounded—Nick’s got him tongue tied and completely clueless, as always. He falls asleep that night a little bit easier, his boyfriend’s face the only thing behind his eyelids that night.

But when he wakes up the next morning, still achy from the win on Sunday, he rolls over in bed and sees his phone lit up from a 4:45am text from his boyfriend and an event reminder— _SECRET SANTA: 12/13/18_. “Crap,” he grumbles, pushing himself upright in bed and staring at his phone. His one day off this week, and he’s gonna spend it the same way he’s spent the last two Tuesdays: thinking about Nick and stressing himself out. He saunters out into his kitchen and makes himself a cup of coffee before fiddling around with whatever scraps of food have been lying around in his refrigerator since his and Nick’s last trip to the grocery store.

For a moment, the thought makes him smile—it feels domestic, in a way, looking at a fridge of things they’d decided on together in the middle of the most unknown grocery store outside of Philadelphia. (“We need fresh squash for dinner tonight,” Nick had murmured in his ear, and Carson had just nodded in acknowledgement, too taken by the feeling of Nick’s hand pressed flat to his lower back in a simple gesture of intimacy.) But leftovers from last time they’d cooked aren’t suitable for breakfast, no matter how fond Carson feels as he looks at the little Tupperware—he settles for an apple and heads over to the couch, where Zach’s gift to him is sitting out in the open. Carse sits down hard on the couch and takes a bite of the apple in his hand, finding the little white sheet impossible to ignore. The impending sense of a doomsday clock rapidly approaching midnight is the _only_ thing that he can think of right now. _Jesus_.

With the little _Nick Foles_ slip of paper practically crumpled in his hand, Carson realizes that, with a week and a half to go, he’s in _dire_ need of an actual plan. Countless Google searches had done him no good, and he’d been skeptical of whatever results he _had_ found because of the WikiHow incident. The key he’d had made a few days ago has been sitting on his coffee table, glittering in the patches of sunlight that spill through Carson’s living room window and acting as an unfriendly reminder of sorts that _yeah_ , it’s crunch time. Their victory in Washington had been good for his mind and for the team’s morale, but Monday morning had come and gone, and he’d been left staring at this same little silver key, asking himself what the _heck_ he’s going to do. He’s out of ideas—honestly, he hadn’t really even _had_ any, though he chalks that up to this season’s stress-inducing lack of divisional clarity. So he does the only thing he can think of right now—climbs into his car and drives to NovaCare, in search of the QB room’s ability to clear his mind and help him think.

Of course, once he actually _arrives_ and reaches the QB room, he runs into none other than Nate Sudfeld, who’s absentmindedly looking through his tablet when Carson swings the door open. Apparently, the expression on his face is noticeably frazzled.

“Hey, Carse,” Nate says, then stops and gives him a questioning look. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replies quickly, shaking his head and waving a hand to emphasize that Nate has nothing to worry about. “Just wasn’t expecting to see you here, that’s all.”

Nate chuckles, though he continues to eye Carson curiously. “C’mon, Carse, you know I’m always here Tuesdays reviewing film for y’all.” Setting the tablet down on the closest table, Nate gets up and offers a hand so that the two of them can do their handshake. “You sure you’re okay? You seem like you’re kinda stressed even though we just won the other day.” Carse makes a neutral noise in the back of his throat, aiming for something dismissive but clearly missing the mark. “Dude. You’re not thinking about Dallas already, are you?”

“No, no,” Carson answers, shaking his head. “I mean, maybe a little? But it’s not—I’m not worried about that too much yet.” He sighs. “I’m just…kinda stuck on something, that’s all.”

“Oh?” Nate elbows him in the ribs gently. “Hey, if you wanna bounce whatever it is off me, I’m game.”

Carson smiles a little. “I thought you were working on film review,” he answers teasingly, and Nate rolls his eyes, folding his arms across his chest indignantly.

“Shut up, Carse, I’ve been here since 10:30. I can use a break.” He takes a couple steps backwards and flops onto the couch, kicking his legs up onto the coffee table littered with discarded playbook options. “C’mon, sit down. What’s got you stuck?” He grins. “I’m good at more than just throwing you and Nick water bottles on the sidelines, you know.”

Carson, who at this point has completely lost all hope of finding something creative enough to use as a proposal plan, exhales, and then sits down on the armrest, fingers pressed firmly to the bridge of his nose. He’s not even sure how he’s going to _word_ this, seeing as literally no one else knows about his relationship with Nick and he’s been trying to keep it that way for as long as they’ve been together. “It’s…kinda complicated. I guess?” He drags his hand down his face. “I’m trying to do something… _nice_ for someone that I, uh, love. And it’s kind of a big nice thing. And I just…don’t know how to do it, that’s all.” He shakes his head, not noticing that Nate’s face has gone a little pink in the ears as if he knows exactly what Carson is talking about.

“Ah,” he answers instead. “ _That_ kind of stuck.” He shrugs.

“Nate, if you—if you were dating a girl for a while…say almost a year? And you wanted to ask her to move in with you. How would you do it?”

“I’d ask her to move in with me,” Nate deadpans. Carson rolls his eyes. “What? It’s not like you’re proposing marriage—I mean, you aren’t, _are_ you?”

“No!” Carson practically shouts, shaking his head so fast he’s close to giving himself whiplash. “It’s just…things have been developing kind of _casually_ between us, and I wanted to, uh, do something romantic for her. You know. To prove I’m not just casual about our relationship even though we’ve known each other for a while.”

A wide grin stretches across Nate’s face. “Ah. Someone’s pretty smitten, huh?” Carson flings a pillow at his head. “I mean, in all seriousness—Carse, you love hi—her, don’t you?” Nate coughs. “It’s not gonna matter, at the end of the day. You love her, you wanna be around her all the time, you want to settle down and just…be with her. That’s what this is all about, right?”

Carson is taken aback at the sudden depth of Nate’s words. “Yeah,” he answers, nodding a little. “Yeah, but what if—”

“Do something simple, Carse. You don’t have to spell her name out in the Philadelphia skyline.” (Now _that’s_ an idea, Carson thinks—how’d he been able to come up with something like that so spontaneously?) “Just….make your words the focus when you ask her. Y’know? Tell her how you feel. The rest is up to her.” He shrugs and then scoots to the other end of the couch so that he can grab the tablet he’d been perusing before.

Dang. “Thanks, Nate,” Carse replies after a few beats of silence. “Really. You’re the man.”

“Better invite me to the wedding,” he replies without looking up, waving a hand to shoo Carson out of the room. “Go be the romantic idiot you were born to be, Carson.”

“Thanks, Nate.” He slips right back out the door with nothing more than a quick wave, Nate’s startlingly inspirational words floating around in his head. It shouldn’t be that _hard_ , he realizes as he walks across the mostly-emptied out parking lot. It’s _Nick_. Carson hasn’t ever loved anybody the same way he’s in love with his backup quarterback right now—there’s nobody else for him, not really, and Nick knows that. It shouldn’t be that hard to just put into words, even just into simple actions, how he feels—

And then it hits him. The idea hits him like a train, the way it crashes through his chest and sucks the air out of his lungs. _The perfect way to ask Nick to move in with him_. “Holy shit,” he breathes, the words turning into smoke outside in the bitter Philadelphia air. It tastes wrong in his mouth, as he’s a man who never curses, but this—this is worth it, at least just this once. He gets into the car and immediately texts Nate again, a quick little “thanks again, bro” that immediately is read but not replied to. But Carson doesn’t really care—he’s too busy thinking about what he’s going to say.

* * *

As soon as he rolls into his parking space, Carson whips his phone out again and dials his boyfriend. He knows Nick had been taking today as a “vet” day, some time to sit back and relax and maybe take over on Dad Duty for the afternoon—but it’s getting close to 4pm, and he _knows_ Nick will pick up the phone when he calls. After all, when has he not?

There are approximately three rings before Nick’s voice lights up Carson’s ears. “Hiya, Carse,” he murmurs, lips clearly pressed so close to the phone Carson can practically feel them. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing,” he hums in reply. As he gets out of his car and twirls his keys around, he feels a little smug. Like Nick’s not gonna know what hit him when Secret Santas finally come out. “Just thinkin’ about you, that’s all.”

Nick laughs on the other end of the line and Carson can almost _see_ the blush spreading across his face. “Well ain’t that sweet,” he says, a little twang of Texas drawl spilling into his words for a moment and reminding Carson _exactly_ why he loves to listen to him talk. “I was thinkin’ about you too, y’know.”

_God_ is Carse in love with him. “Doing more film work?” He teases in response, and Nick laughs again. “Can’t believe you’re doin’ Dallas work already. Hasn’t Nate made fun of you for it yet?”

“I’m not doing Dallas work, Carson,” Nick hums. “I really was just…thinking about you.” He pauses on the other end of the line, and now it’s Carson’s turn to go pink at the ears. They’ve been together for over ten whole months and it _still_ makes his spine tingle, knowing that Nick thinks about him even outside the office. He attempts to clear his throat nonchalantly, closing the door to his apartment and setting the keys down on the nearest table.

“You doing anything right now, Nicky?”

Nick hums. “Lily just fell asleep, and Tori’s gonna come by and pick her up in an hour or so.” He pauses. “What’s on your mind, Carse?”

“You wanna go see a movie tonight?” The words tumble out of Carson’s mouth like he’s sixteen again, nerves suddenly rattling his system even though, _again_ , he’s been seeing Nick Foles for almost an entire year now.

Nick laughs again, soft and controlled, and Carson thinks his heart is going to beat out of his chest. “Depends on the movie,” his boyfriend teases, and Carson releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding until this moment. His dang nerves are all over the place, knowing what he’s gonna be doing in a week’s time. “Yeah, Carse, let’s do it. I’ll text you once Tori and Lil leave, and you can come pick me up.”

“Sounds good, Nicky,” Carson murmurs, the warm feeling in his chest rapidly expanding. “Can’t wait to see you.”

“You just saw me yesterday at Nova, Carson,” Nick giggles in response. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I know. Can’t help it, Nick, you know how I feel.” They linger in a moment or two of silence, his boyfriend’s breath softly going in and out being the only sound in Carson’s ear. “Hey—I love you.”

“I love you too, Carse. I’ll see you soon.”

Carson hangs up and then leans back against the kitchen counter. The thought of this being _their_ kitchen—his and Nick’s—filters into his mind again, and it leaves him breathless in a way he’s kind-of starting to get used to. Tonight he’ll take Nick out to a movie, they’ll go beat Dallas on Sunday, and then by next Thursday he’ll know for sure if Nick’s going to be his live-in boyfriend the way Carson has been unconsciously dreaming about for the past six months. That along with the Christmas spirit that’s been coming at him from all angles since Thanksgiving has Carson so high on giddiness that he practically skips to his bedroom to get dressed.

* * *

Carson ends up buying tickets to see the second Fantastic Beasts movie. He knows that Nick isn’t the biggest Harry Potter fan—and neither is Carson, to be honest—but there really isn’t much else showing at the theater, and it’s been out for long enough that the theater should be mostly empty. (Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks he should’ve found a way to get Venom screened for them, but he’s pretty sure it would have looked a lot more suspicious to ask for a private showing of a movie that’s about to be released on DVD, so he thinks he made the right decision.) Nick texts him, as he promised, about an hour or so after their phone call, and Carson pulls up to the front of his place and honks three times, hanging out the window of his car with a big, goofy smile on his face.

“I forgot to bring pebbles to throw at your window,” he giggles as Nick walks out to greet him with a smattering of pink coloring his cheeks. “So I settled for the next best thing.”

“Oh, aren’t you romantic,” his boyfriend teases, and Carson shrugs, biting his lip to keep from smiling too big. Nick walks around the car and climbs into the passenger seat, leaning over to snag a kiss. It’s tender, as always, and for a moment Carson thinks he’d be happy like this, just kissing Nick in the front seat of his car without a care in the world. But then he remembers that he _had_ mentioned a movie, along with having bought tickets, and he knows that Nick probably wouldn’t be too keen on necking while parked out in front of his house when they could probably be doing that inside. So he pulls back, a little smile stretched across his face. “What’re we seeing?”

“That Harry Potter movie,” Carse mumbles in reply, still thinking about Nick’s lips on his own. “’s nothing special, but there wasn’t really anything else showing…”

“Sounds good to me, baby,” Nick replies, resting his hand over Carson’s on the dashboard. “Besides—if you’re gonna wine and dine me tonight, I guess I shouldn’t complain.”

Carson chokes on a laugh, turning to look at Nick, who’s still pink in the face but just shrugs. “Wine and dine, huh? Guess I should’ve dressed up more.”

“You look handsome as it is,” Nick says, voice soft around the edges. “Now c’mon. I don’t wanna miss the previews. I heard they might be putting something for Captain Marvel in front of the movie?”

_Ever the superhero fanatic_ , Carse thinks fondly. “Whatever you say, Nick,” he laughs, shifting the car into gear.

They manage to make it on time and even have a few moments to spare to grab popcorn. “What?” Carson asks, holding the large bucket close to his chest as they walk towards the right theater number. “’s a movie, you gotta have popcorn when you watch a movie no matter what.”

“What about your diet for the season?” Nick asks, though he’s clearly teasing because he grabs a handful of it for himself. “Thought we were supposed to be taking care of our bodies so that we can coast into the playoffs all healthy.” He holds the door open for Carson and his snack, giving him a ridiculous wink that makes Carson all red in the face.

“Listen.” They sit down in the back row, though the rest of the theater is equally as empty. “We don’t have anything to worry about. We’re gonna be fine.” Nick’s expression, even in the low lighting of the theater, looks a little bit skeptical. “What? Nicky, all we gotta do is beat Dallas and Washington. And who knows—the Rams will probably think we’re a trap game—”

“Typical Rams,” Nick interjects, and Carson smiles widely at him.

“Look at us, Nicky. We got a real chance here. I know we can do it.” He takes Nick’s hand and twines their fingers together, squeezing lightly once. “I’m gonna take us there again. I promise.” The lights in the theater dim, and though the rest of the seats around them are completely empty, the feeling of solitude around them intensifies as they’re enveloped in the darkness. The screen flickers to life, but Carson doesn’t really care about that right now.

“You really think we’re gonna do it again?” Nick murmurs, leaning in closer so that Carson can hear him over the flickering-to-life screen they’re sitting in front of. Carse nods. A flash of illumination spills onto his boyfriend’s face, revealing the way his skeptic expression has softened so much Carson thinks his heart is going to fall out of his chest. “Then yeah. We’re gonna do it again.” He lifts Carson’s hand to his lips and presses a tender kiss to the back of it, a gesture so soft and exposed that it takes the quarterback’s breath away. Nick’s lips are soft and parted ever-so-slightly against his skin, and his breath is warm enough to send goosebumps up both of Carson’s arms. _Oh, geez_.

It’s instinct more than anything that drives Carson to untangle their fingers for a moment so he can properly rest a hand on Nick’s cheek, rubbing a small circle into the apple of his cheekbone before pulling him in for a kiss. All he wants to do is be with Nick—nothing else really matters to him, not football, not the movie they’re definitely supposed to be watching, not the fact that anyone could catch them at this very moment: Nick makes a soft noise and deepens the kiss, and Carson falls further into it. His Nick—the Nick who stood by him and kept him steady during the worst football experience of his life, the Nick who’d said “I love you” first and completely taken Carson’s mind by storm, the Nick who he’d spent the entire offseason being in love with right alongside the city of Philadelphia—this is _his_ Nick.

“I love you,” Carson breathes as they part for air, movie now completely abandoned as they settle more firmly into eachothers’ space. Nick hums in reply, leans forward so that their foreheads are gently leaned up against each other. He smiles and Carson feels like the sun is shining all over.

“I love you, too.”

* * *

The rest of the week passes uneventfully, despite the fact that Carson now feels like time is moving too slow. Their game against Dallas goes into overtime on Sunday, though it doesn’t quite swing their way, and it all but sentences them to a January-less season. (There’s still a chance to make the Wildcard round, he knows, and the team spends the entire post-game locker room session talking about it—about playing for each other, about fighting the rest of the year, about not letting Dallas have all the fun in the East this season—but there’s a lingering worry that their hangover might be more real than they’d wanted it to be.)

But Monday’s work bleeds into Tuesday, and Tuesday’s into Wednesday, and Wednesday into today, where he sits fiddling with his thumbs before practice because _today is the day_. Malcolm had sent a group text to the rest of the team the night before, reminding everyone to bring their gifts today and leave them at the front of NovaCare for after practice. Carson had found an envelope sitting around his house and scrawled a message onto it, _pretend this is a gift certificate and meet me at your car once the team goes away_ , and then seals it and writes “FOLES” in big, block letters. He knows his boyfriend will probably be able to guess who his Santa is based on handwriting alone, but it doesn’t matter, really—it won’t be a secret for too long, anyway.

Practice is uneventful, though Carson finds that he’s distracted through most of it anyway. _I’ll be better tomorrow_ , he promises himself halfheartedly, fully knowing that he might be kept up later than normal tonight. He misses a few throws and Coach pulls him aside to ask if he’s okay, but beyond that, the rest of their Thursday practice is relatively normal. He keeps looking off to the side to see Nick working out in the second-team offense, trying hard to not be too obvious in his staring. (Not that his boyfriend would say anything, because Nick either wouldn’t notice or would just assume he was staring behind him somewhere, bless his gentle heart.) Before long, the final whistle of the day blows, and Carson can feel it—can feel himself starting to tremble a little as the team files back into NovaCare to pack up and then grab their surprise gifts. He’s about to ask Nick Foles to live with him, full time. No more Tuesday dates that swap back and forth between places, no more facetiming across town when either of them feel like it, no more having to kiss Nick goodnight and watch him pull out of the parking lot…he takes a steadying breath, knowing that if he keeps thinking about it, he’s just going to self-destruct and collapse before he gets a chance to even go through with what he’s planned.

He gets dressed in a hurry, showers fast and hops back into his post-practice sweats to snag whatever present has his name on it so he can meet Nick out in the parking lot like he’d specifically mentioned. (God, he hopes Nick actually does it, because as Carson steps outside, he realizes that it’s cold. Colder than he’d expected, though he doesn’t really know why he _hadn’t_ expected this in mid-December.) Hands in his pockets, he strides over to where Nick’s car is parked, a dusting of snow covering it as if to remind Carson just _how_ cold it is out here. Absentmindedly, as he waits for Nick to appear in his line of sight, he unwraps the box that has his name written in chicken-scratch handwriting on top.

_Merry Christmas, Carse_ , the little slip of cardstock says on top says. _Here’s to having more time in the pocket the rest of this year. – J_

In the box sits a stunning watch, one that’s tastefully simple and silver. Carson gapes at it for a moment, shaking his head—of _course_ Kelce got him. Of _course_ he’s gonna make a joke about the offensive line. He rolls his eyes and mentally makes a note to text him later as a thank-you. Maybe he’ll buy him a couple beers or something—

Carson doesn’t get to finish that thought, however, because as soon as he looks up from the box, there he is—Nick Foles, bundled up in a Philly-colored scarf with his hands tucked in his pockets. He doesn’t see Carson, yet, which makes Carse chuckle. When Nick is close enough, though, he starts to jump around and wave his arms, the antsy feeling from before returning as he realizes that it’s time—that he’s about to take the biggest step of his personal life yet.

“You?” Nick asks once he’s close enough, shouting over the wind that’s starting to pick up in the late afternoon. Carson shrugs dramatically, leaning his head back and forth and grinning as Nick moves closer and closer to where he’s standing. Carson shoves his hands, trembling from both cold and from nerves, into the front pocket of his sweatshirt and hops from foot to foot, wondering why his boyfriend decided to pick _today_ of all days to take his time meeting him out in the parking lot.

Nick finally makes it over, his face pink and smiley. “I can’t believe _you_ are my Secret Santa this year, Carse. What are the odds?” Carson bites a snarky comment back. “So, Carsey Claus, what’s the deal? You look kinda cold standing out here all by yourself.” There’s a little bit of worry flecked in his gaze, even though he’s being a tease, and _geez_ , all of a sudden Carson “Can’t Miss” Wentz forgets every word he’d planned on saying in the moment. He shakes his head, trying to force the thoughts to reappear in his mind.

“I—check your wheel,” he finally manages, eyeing Nick towards the correct one before stepping back to let Nick through. He crouches down at his right rear tire, and here it comes—his boyfriend visibly stiffens, reaching out and picking up the gift Carson has been waiting to give him for almost a month.

Standing out in the December snow, a week out from Christmas Day, Carson watches with his heart in his throat as Nick picks up the little velvet box sitting just behind the wheel of his car. The rest of the team had lost interest in whatever Nick’s gift had been, fooled by Carson and Nick’s joint explanation that the gift had only been a gift certificate—here and now, being rapidly covered in Philadelphia chill, it’s only the quarterback and his backup. Carson can’t tear his eyes away from Nick’s face as a realization seems to dawn on him. He can’t help himself—he starts to ramble.

“I—Nick, I know you have Lily to worry about, and I know your life is so full already, but I just…I want you here with me all the time, y’know? And it only gets worse the longer that we’re together, because every day I think about how lucky I am to wake up next to you and it just. It’s making me _crazy_ , Nicky. I love you so much I’m crazy.” Carson pauses to take a breath, runs a hand over his face because he’s _here_ , he finally has this moment he’s been trying to orchestrate for weeks, and he’s about to blow it all up because of how much of a hold Nick’s got on his heart.

“Carse…” Nick says quietly, voice low. (Carson is amazed that he can even hear the words through the blustery storm they’re standing out in—though in retrospect, he really can’t be surprised, since he hangs onto every word Nick has ever said from the moment they’d first been in that quarterback room together.) He steps a little closer. “Are you asking me to _marry_ you?”

The question knocks the wind out of Carson for a moment. He stares breathlessly at Nick’s wide-eyed expression, one that’s pink from the cold, and also probably from the implication. He shakes his head, resting a hand over the one Nick is holding the gift with. “I—no, Nicky, I—” Carson laughs nervously, his other hand swiping at his freezing cold bottom lip, and Nick’s expression is dangerously unreadable for a moment. “I’m asking you to, y’know, move in with me.” He pauses to open the box, a shiny bronze-colored key sitting delicately on a little velvet pillow, but his words are lingering between them in a way he hadn’t wanted them to. He’d wanted to be _confident_ , wanted Nick to know that the way he feels in this moment is _certainty_ instead of a moment that needs clarification. Nick still hasn’t said anything, and Carson’s heartbeat is now pounding in his ears from his silence.

“I know you want to be with your family, and I know you’ve got your life path all sorted out, and I don’t wanna throw a wrench into things—so if you don’t think moving in together is a good idea, y’know, I won’t be hurt, ‘cause I love you no matter what, and I know adding me into the picture you’ve already got is a lot—” Nick shakes his head and makes a noise in his throat to interrupt Carson’s ramble, and for a split second, he’s convinced that this is it. That Nick is going to close the little velvet box with the key inside it, that he’s going to tell Carson how much he loves him but how he can’t jump right into something like that yet, and that they need to take a little more time before doing something …impulsive. He’s ready to hear it, and he’s ready to put the spare key to his new place back into the little basket he’d been keeping it in.

And then suddenly, Carson watches as Nick’s blank expression melts into something unspeakably beautiful right before his eyes. A smile stretches across his face, ear-to-ear, and he bites his lip as if it’ll keep from his face splitting in two.

“Carse,” he says, like it’s a sigh of relief. “You’re _already_ a part of the picture. You have been from the moment we met.” Nick’s hands rest on top of Carson’s, both thumbs rubbing against the little velvet box, and his face is pink as he looks up and into Carson’s eyes. “I would _love_ to move in with you.”

Carson exhales shakily, feeling about ten seconds from collapsing on his turned-to-jelly legs. “Yeah?” He feels dumb and _knows_ the expression on his face is probably ridiculous, but he can’t help it. Nick’s smile is wide and bright, glittering in the fading light of the afternoon in a way that sets Carse’s heart on fire. “You wanna move in with me?”

“I wanna move in with you,” Nick repeats affirmingly, nodding and gnawing at his lip again. “I feel like I spend every waking moment with you anyway, y’know.” Carson snorts, shuffling closer to be in his boyfriend’s orbit. “I love you so much, Carse. I really, really do. You make me _just_ as crazy. Sometimes, I don’t think you realize that.”

Carson shrugs, biting at his own smile. “I mean, I dunno, I _am_ a catch—” Nick laughs brightly and leans in, bumping their foreheads together. “Sorry, sorry.” Carefully, he tucks the little velvet box into Nick’s jacket pocket. “I’m glad you said yes, Nick.”

Nick chuckles, breath rolling softly into Carson’s cheek in contrast to the freezing air that’s only just started to die down. “I am too,” he murmurs. Resting a hand on Carson’s cheek, Nick nods a little, as if to emphasize what he’s saying. The smile on his face breaks into something impossibly wider than before—Carse can’t take his eyes off Nick’s face he’s so beautiful. He’d be breathless with it if he weren’t already from the cold. His boyfriend giggles under his breath. “Well…aren’t you gonna kiss me, Wentz?”

Carson hiccup-laughs, nodding a little bit so that, for a moment, his forehead brushes up against Nick’s nose. He’s radiating warmth, and he _always_ wants to kiss his boyfriend, under any and every circumstance. But…

“How about,” Carson mumbles, swaying a little closer so that his lips are barely an inch from Nick’s. “I kiss you when we get home?” He reaches into his pocket and fishes out his car keys, the matching silver key to his place clinking lightly against the key-fob. Nick shakes his head and takes a half-step backwards, the smile on his face curling into one of mischief.

“Oh, is _that_ how it’s gonna be?” He nods. “Am I racing you there, then, Carson James Wentz?”

Carse shuffles on his feet, pointedly looking away. “Can you _really_ call it a race if we both know I’m gonna win?”

Nick winks at him. “Guess we’ll just have to find out, baby,” he says, a devious glint in his eye. And just like that, Nick breaks into a sprint around his car to the driver’s side, catching his boyfriend completely by surprise and making Carson choke on a giggle. He stumbles backwards, turning and then running towards his own car in the parking lot. He unlocks it from a distance as he slides a little on the pavement, careful not to fall but too stubborn to take it slow.

He’ll get to his damn apartment first, even if he has to get a Philly police escort to do it.

* * *

Actual move-in day is scheduled for some time after Christmas—Nick had agreed when Carson had suggested something after their season had officially ended, so that they wouldn’t have to juggle quarterback responsibilities with more… _personal_ ones. (Besides, it gives Carson the opportunity to clean up his place a little bit so that Nick can settle in and nest the way Carse knows he loves to.)

With that being said, however, Carson _does_ suggest that they spend Christmas together. It’s only right—Nick had promised to spend the evening with his family, but he’d promised in a soft, warm voice that there was _nowhere_ he’d rather be on Christmas morning than in Carson’s arms, and that had been all the agreement that Carson had needed to fully dissolve into the holiday spirit.

That’s how, three days before Christmas day, Carson finds himself arm-in-arm with his boyfriend at the most remote tree farm outside of Philadelphia, firmly bundled in three layers of jackets, looking for a little tree to cut down and set up in Carson’s living room. Or, at least, pretending to look—Nick’s been beaming at him for a solid five minutes, and Carson can’t think straight between the blustery wind and the overwhelming urge to kiss the warm look off his face.

“What kinda tree are we lookin’ for, Nicky?” He asks instead, tightening his hold on Nick’s arm for a moment. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t really care what kind—but he knows his boyfriend does, since he’s heard all the horror stories about getting stabbed by pine needles. Nick hums.

“Probably long-needled and soft.” Carson raises an eyebrow. “What? Don’t want you getting’ stabbed when you eventually walk into the tree, Carse.” He nudges Carson a little, who giggles.

“Shuddup,” he answers, ducking his head to swallow a self-depreciating giggle. “You really think I’m gonna walk into a _tree_?” Nick snorts. “C’mon, Nicky, ‘m not that klutzy.”

“Whatever you say, Carson…” He dramatically looks away and Carson whacks him in the arm with his free hand. “Sorry, baby, ‘s just how it is.” He presses a kiss to the side of Carson’s head, though, and they continue down the field in amiable silence. Carson points a few trees out, attempting to be a little bit helpful so that he’s not just hanging off Nick’s arm, but he quickly learns that his boyfriend isn’t only a perfectionist about his play. Nick seems to have an honest-to-god checklist about the perfect tree, bless his heart—Carson full-body cackles when Nick crouches to inspect one tree for bare spots.

“It’s gonna be hard to decorate around!” Nick protests, though he’s got a big smile on his face. He motions for Carson to crouch with him, pointing insistently at an admittedly-noticeable bald patch. “See? C’mere. Our first Christmas tree can’t look like _this_.”

Carson’s breath catches in his throat. _Our_ first Christmas tree. Nick clearly hadn’t realized what he’d said, too focused on the weird shape of the needles, but Carson thinks he’s going to melt into the ground where he’s standing. _It’s their first Christmas together_.

“Okay, Nicky, okay,” he concedes after a moment, collecting himself as best as he can. He walks over and crouches next to his boyfriend, their knees bumping a little and making Nick wobble a little where he’s perched. “Not this one.” He pauses, casting his eyes around. “What’s the plan?”

“Well,” Nick starts, pushing himself back into a standing position and offering Carse a hand to hold. “We don’t have anything to do today.” He shrugs, the scarf around his neck making him look especially warm and cozy and ready for a kiss—so ready, in fact, that Carson abandons the “no PDA” rule they’d made during the car ride to the farm. He wraps his arms around Nick’s shoulders and pulls him in for a long, slow kiss, a welcomed moment of warmth between them as the wind starts to pick up around their patch of farmland. When Carse pulls away, Nick’s got a dazed, pink look on his face. He beams at it.

“Let’s go find the perfect tree,” he murmurs, bumping their noses together accidentally when he rocks forward on his toes. Nick’s hand twines with his own. He nods, a big cheesy smile stretched across his scruffy face. They might not make the playoffs come Sunday, but right now, that’s not a thought he’s even considered having right now. Because right now, he’s about to pick out a wildly expensive tree with his boyfriend for their very first Christmas together. There’s nothing more important than that.

Carson Wentz is in love with his backup quarterback. And the best part, he thinks as their clasped hands swing while they’re walking up the hill, is that right now, he doesn’t care who knows.


End file.
